


Three Is Company

by mrwonderwoman (fem_castielnovak)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, F/M/M Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Build, Vaginal Sex, mild pining, poor as they may be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: Natasha comes home from a mission to find that her standing, casual dynamic with Phil has been altered in her absence by his newly developed romantic relationship with Clint. The standing closeness amongst the three of them has withstood a lot bigger things, though. And with so much transparency, what is there really that they don't already know about each other?





	Three Is Company

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to take a moment to thank my insomnia, because I wrote the first 2k of this in two hours when all I meant to do was jot down one line about Clint being curled up behind Phil for me to think about later.

 

 

Clint's in the kitchen when he hears the text alert go off.   
"Phil, phone," he yells to the back of the apartment. And he suddenly feels very domestic. He and Phil both just got ready for the day side by side, and Phil was the one who made the original meal he’s using now as leftovers to pack his lunch, and he feels wildly at home here in Phil’s kitchen yelling for him about a text notification.

He hears Phil come down the hall and go into the living room.

They're comfortable and sure together, and - miracle of miracles - have exchanged mutual ' _I love you_ 's. Clint puts the lid back on the Tupperware and realizes that until now, he hasn't really thought about how fast they seem to have progressed from an outside view. Then again, how many people really fall in love with one of their best friends?

Clint looks up as Phil comes into the kitchen. He's holding his phone in his hand like an offering; the screen lit, but out at his side, not being read. 

"What's up?" Clint asks before he licks some sauce off his thumb, "Anything at work?" 

Phil shakes his head and crosses the room, "I feel like I should start with an apology. For not having brought this up earlier." He hands over the phone but Clint doesn't look down at the screen just yet - Phil's expression feels more interesting for all that it's unreadable. "But we haven't had a 'past partners' conversation, which is where I supposed I imagined bringing it up."

"Okay?" Clint says, short and as understanding as he can make himself sound when he's confused. He hadn't thought they would need to have that discussion. Anyone relevant, they've lived through or talked about at some point in their friendship. Having a conversation just focused on that sort of thing would be overkill, wouldn't it? He looks down at the unlocked screen. "Oh," and the surprise is all that's evident in his tone.   


**From: Natasha**                 **7:42am**  
Do you have time to help me out today?  


Clint is 100% certain that Phil and Natasha have never dated, so obviously something else is going on. 

"Okay, what am I missing?" he asks, purely inquisitive. 

"Sometimes, when she asks, I help Natasha come down after her missions. Mostly when she has energy to burn off."

"Like, ... with sex?" Clint looks down at the phone and back up at Phil who seems on the verge of hesitating. 

"Yes," he responds, sure and quicker than Clint might have expected. "We've been doing this for about five years now," he volunteers. "She approached me about it initially - it took her asking me twice to understand that she was serious and wasn't doing it for any reason except that she wanted to."

"Really," Clint says in acknowledgement - speculative, open. More about the length of time than anything else. 

Phil nods, "It doesn't happen after every op. I wouldn't even say it happens after most. But when she asks for it, she means it."

Of course she does. Natasha rarely asks for things she wants; not when they're things she can take or can find substitutes for. This is something else. And if Phil were asking a question he’d be asking a question; this information is purely for Clint’s benefit to do with it as he will and direct the conversation as he wishes.

“Are you asking me for permission?” 

“Normally, when someone is in a committed, monogamous relationship-“ Christ, even now that description makes Clint all warm and fuzzy inside, “- they don’t do these sort of things.”

“But this is Natasha," Clint says - understanding in his voice, "so it’s different.” Weird. Special.

Phil nods and Clint agrees with him - it is different. They two have managed better than anyone in the world to leverage a finely tuned and true intimacy with her; a balance between letting her stay at a comfortable, near arm’s length, and keeping her genuinely close.

“Have you talked to her?” he says, but what he’s asking is if Clint’s told her about the two of them. The question keeps them on equal footing - a conversation rather than an interrogation. 

“No, she’s been on radio silence since before our first date, and I kinda wanted to wait to tell her in person anyways.” A tiny smile quirks the corner of Phil’s mouth at that. Natasha probably wouldn’t have appreciated the delayed notice but Clint had felt that getting to watch her reaction to this personal triumph for him would makeup for whatever pouting she did. 

“Maybe you should speak with her first.”

“Nah, go ahead and respond. If she’s texting you then she’s back and she’ll be antsy now that everything's winding down. I’ll go down and catch her right after she’s out of her debrief.”

“And what exactly am I responding with?” Phil's eyes dart briefly to the screen.

Clint shrugs, “Whatever you want.”

“You’re sure?” Phil asks, not tentative, but firm; taking Clint at his word but giving him an out - a moment to reconsider.

He nods, “Yeah, if you're still comfortable helping her, I'd actually say that you should. Nat needs this - or, I'm guessing so. And she doesn’t need a lot of things. I’m not jealous, I know you love me. And I love Nat. I don’t want to take this away from her.” He picks up his mug, “But I’ve gotta say, if you don’t keep seeing her, you’ll be crushing one of my biggest fantasies literally just when I’ve discovered it’s a reality, and that seems a little cruel,” he tilts his mug pointedly at Phil then takes a sip, looking as smug as someone can be while they’re drinking too-hot coffee.

“You’ve fantasized about Natasha and I fucking?”

The profanity fans the heat in Clint's gut. “The two hottest people I know? Uh, yeah.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘your two closest friends,’ but okay, we’ll go with that.” He glances up at Clint but there must be something in his expression because Phil doubletakes. 

“What?” he asks and as soon as the word leaves his mouth Clint feels how incriminating it sounds. 

"Is it just the physical aspect?" Phil asks, ducking his head to catch Clint's eyes, “I know you love her but is it as more than a friend?"

"I, uh-" he looks away, hemming and hawing as he takes half a step back. 

“Clint,” Phil croons, “I’m not a jealous man either,” he says, closing the distance between them and gently pressing the shape of his half-hard dick right into Clint’s hip. And shit, this conversation has definitely had Clint’s motor running for a few minutes now but that it perked Phil up too is somehow surprising. "Coincidentally, I'm also not a saint."

"I can tell," Clint says and nudges his hips forward encouragingly. 

"Beyond my mild perversions," he backs off a little, "I happen to care very much for Natasha's feelings and well-being."

"I know that," he says and watches as Phil tries to phrase something else, then- "Wait, are you in love with her too?"

Phil inclines his head and puts one hand on Clint’s hip, “Halfway, at least. What’s not to love?”  
Clint laughs softly - reaches out to hook his finger through a belt loop and scoffs, because that's kind of how it happened for him, too.

"You can tell her if you want, when you see her later." Phil says. "Even the playing field. Lay all our cards out."

“You don’t think she’d mind?”

“I think she’d rather know than not.”

“I think you’re right,” Clint says and leans into him. 

“She knows us well enough - is comfortable enough with us that she won't do anything she doesn't want to just because we tell her. I'm certain of it.” 

Clint thinks that Phil’s talking to reassure himself at this point but he nods anyways. 

“Go ahead and text her back,” he says and dips close enough to kiss the corner of Phil's mouth. “I’ll see you after work,” he adds, pushing away from the counter and grabbing his bag off the table as he heads for the front door.

 

**From: Natasha                  7:42am**  
Do you have time to help me out today?

**To: Natasha                      7:58am**  
Of course. Any time. Just txt when ur outside my bldg.

**To: Natasha                      7:59am**  
Talk to Clint before you leave base

 

 

 

             ☙••••••••••••••❧

 

 

Natasha looks less tired than Clint expects when she pops out of the meeting room he's been waiting outside of for a half hour. To the untrained eye she doesn’t appear anything less than composed, and without a doubt she’s more alert than any of the other people filing out with her, but as her best friend and a general expert on microexpressions, Clint has made it his job to be aware of these sorts of things. 

"Hey, you," he greets, bumping their shoulders together as he falls into step with her. 

"Hey yourself," she says with a barely there smile as she returns the bump and leans into him. "Coulson said to talk to you before I left."

"Yeah, c'mon. Let's go break into his office." Eagerness speeds his pace the slightest bit but Natasha keeps up.

"It's not breaking in if you know the code," she tells him.

"Who says I'm using the code?" When he looks over at her she's just got on the usual expression she tends to wear around him. He likes to think it might be something close to fondness. 

"I do, because I'd rather be eating or sleeping than watching-"

"Than watching me futz around with a multi-tiered lock. Yeah, yeah, alright. How was your trip?"

" _A poor excuse for a vacation_ ," she grumbles in her mother tongue, because even though she sometimes makes fun of Clint's accent, she likes to speak conversational Russian with him whenever the mood strikes her. It's not like Clint minds. She seems to put more emotion into those moments than she does with most conversational English. 

He slings his arm across the back of her shoulders and she tosses hers around his waist.

"Well, you're home now," he responds in English. "And you should have at least a couple of days before you get a new assignment. There hasn't been a lot of chatter about fresh intel but things have been normal-busy."

"Just the right climate to ward off actual disasters," she surmises. 

"Well, it  _was_ until you just jinxed it."

She tuts at him and pushes him away so that he takes a melodramatic stumble across the last few feet to Phil's office door. He's wearing a small, private smile as he presses the numbers on the entry pad. It beeps at him and a red light flashes. He frowns and tries again, to the same results.

"Well, that's rude," he grouses and tries a third time. 

Natasha steps up beside him and props her arm against him to peep over his shoulder. "This is the definition of madness," she whispers. 

He harrumphs and puts his hands on his hips. Natasha props her her chin on her arm and he turns his head to look at her. 

"Well it looks like the joke's on you," he says. "I voted for B&E. You should have known I'd've forgotten the right code."

"Or Phil changed it," she suggests.

"He does like to keep me on my toes," he starts, but leaves it there when he realizes that the significance of innuendo would be lost on her right now. Also, it might not be the best timing for one, considering what he's preparing to say to her. "Come on, let's go walk the back routes," he suggests, stepping back and turning on his heel. 

So they walk, and Natasha waits until they've entered the labryinth of low-grade emergency corridors to speak because they really will be alone back here - these halls are so inconvenient that they only seem to be used for private conversations or junior agents sneaking out. 

"What is it we're supposed to be talking about?" she asks. 

“Right. So I- oh,” he cuts himself off, slowing to a stop in the middle of the hall. 

She turns and makes a ‘what?’ face at him. He shakes his head a little and Nat follows as he steps into an alcove.

“Uh, I just realized how rehearsed this is going to sound." He winces, "Mostly because I haven't ever had a conversation like this before, and so, like, I tried to think about what I wanted to say. And also because of the timeline. But it's not. Rehearsed, I mean. I thought about it, but I didn't like, write it up, or-"

"I get it," she assures him, warmth in her voice, "You're about to be genuine, and I should take this seriously. I will."

"Right, okay," he says and takes a breath. "But the timeline thing is only- well, I just, I mostly waited to tell you because at first -  _initially_ , I wanted to see your face when I did it. But now I'm glad I waited to tell you in person because, Jesus, that could've gotten complicated and there could've been so much miscommunication if I'd told you and you hadn't felt comfortable asking and Phil hadn't wanted to push or assume and - yeah, just so many variables." He stops and really looks at her and reads concern and some confusion - or maybe apprehension? - in her features. "I'm- ... getting ahead of myself."

He drops his gaze down to the ugly carpet and shakes out his head, gives a hard exhale then breathes in through his nose as he looks back up and meets her eyes.

"So, two things." He puts up two fingers for a moment. "Number one is that Phil told me that he sometimes helps you wind down after missions-" then before she can react, "And number two is that he told me this because we're dating now. We've been dating since like, a week after you left, so, uh, our relationship feels really solid. But we've only just talked about it - him helping you, I mean - and I'm totally cool with the situation." He puts his hands up, in a gesture of placation and openness. "I kind of feel bad that he told me about helping you without asking permission but also I figured you'd understand? At least, I hope you will?" He searches her expression, and it's not a wall but it's definitely pretty blank. It still feels like she's listening though. "Also, Phil, uh, wanted me to make sure you knew how we both, each feel about you. I want to, too. That's, like, important. Because we both care a lot about you."

"I know," she says, no inflection other than unaffected sureness.

"No, like, a lot ... Like, maybe too much."

"I see," she says. But this time Clint feels like maybe she doesn't. 

He clears his throat and it feels loud in the space between them. “So, yeah. You can still come to Phil if you want his help,” The ‘getting off’ goes unsaid but feels present anyways. “That’s okay with me. With him, too. But in line with the caring about you thing? If you wanted more than that - we’d be really happy,  _more_ than happy to talk about it." He's been gesturing with his hands, but now he punches one gently into the other and holds them clasped in front of his stomach. "And we would. Have to talk about it, that is. Phil’s a stickler for talking things out. Especially feelings things, even though he’s kinda shit at them. Or because he’s shit at them. One of the two.”

Natasha inclines her head, “And would this be a feelings thing?”

Clint shakes his head, “It wouldn’t have to be.” He'd really want it to be. 

“But it could,” she says more statement than anything.

“Yeah, it could,” he says, open, honest, speculative. The uncalculated nature of his tone and words is the saving grace of this discussion. He tilts his head towards the path of the corridor again and they start walking. “And anyways, if you wanna just sleep with me still, that’s fine too. Open invite there. Forever, obviously. I just might be in Phil’s bed because besides the archery range, I kinda like his place better." A joke, about how he'll spend nights shooting since living on base makes midnight archery with the gallery all to himself too much of a temptation to resist sometimes. Besides, Nat has had invited access to Phil's place for years now. "But uh,” he scratches the back of his head, “if you need to be in my bed or you need me in yours, let me know, yeah?”

She nods and he maintains faith that there hasn’t been any gross miscommunication and that for the most part she’s taken him at face value. She’s gotten worlds better at doing that just within the span of time they've known each other - he can’t actually think of the last time something got lost in translation between them, but it still feels like its up in the air; like there’s always the potential for it.

They’re at the end of the hall now, slowing their steps until they’re stopped at the fork. Clint turns to her and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, “But, uh, I’m on base for the rest of the day, Phil’s working from home. If you don’t want his help, at least go talk to him maybe? Let him know what’s up?”

She nods and reaches for the hand at his side; touches the inside of his wrist, wearing less than a smile but more than a blank expression on her face before she turns and heads off towards the front entrance. Clint watches after her and huffs out a sigh when she’s gone around another corner. 

 

 

 

             ☙••••••••••••••❧ 

 

 

Natasha isn't one for hesitation. Her step doesn't falter as she walks the length of the corridor leading to Phil's apartment. As familiar as the layout of this floor is, she hasn't ever really taken the time to consider the decor; how the green of the carpet is the same all the way across but the grain and color of the wood on all the doors is widely varied. She thinks if she wanted she could take an extra moment in front of Phil's door. Less than a full second - to consider the difference; the uniqueness of the only door here with any modicum of importance to her. 

She walks up to it and knocks.

It opens as her hand falls away, and reveals Phil, looking almost as she'd left him - eyes bright, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, smiling softly. 

"Come in," he tells her, as warm and cooly collected as always. The familiarity is settling. He closes the door behind her and, ever the gentleman, reaches up to help her out of her coat. "How was the mission? The specs haven't been uploaded yet." 

"Boring," she tells him clasping her hands behind her back. 

"Good boring, or bad boring?" he asks as he hangs her coat on the rack. 

"Mmmmm, neither. Just boring. I didn't get to do much at all." She doesn't have to say anything else for him to know what that means. Phil knows her well enough - they've been doing this long enough - for him to read her energy levels. She turns to him and he steps back towards her. 

"What do you need right now?" he says as he approaches. 

She pauses, looks at the table that stands in the foyer, "I don't know."

"No?" Phil asks stepping closer. He's keeping his distance, though. She wants him nearer and to turn into the general warmth of his presence. He has always been a comfort, and now there is conflict. 

"I want to do something," she pulls her gaze away from the table and meets his eyes. "But all I could think on the way over here was that I was going home to Clint's boyfriend. The man Clint is in love with."

Phil's expression twists in consternation, "You did talk to Clint, didn't you?"

She nods.

"And neither of you ran off before the conversation was finished?"

She shakes her head, "I understood what he wanted me to understand, to take away from our talk. That this is open, and he's willing to share."

"Open for  _you_ ," Phil corrects crowding just a bit closer. She's still not sure what to make of being the exception for them. 

"Clint and I talked about this," he continues, "The conversation was actually much simpler than I'd expected. And he's the one who made it easy. I was worried, a little, that he was just saying yes, and that it was for the wrong reasons." He inclines his head, "You know how self-sacrificing he can be." She does, and she's sure that Phil knows it even better. "But I can guarantee that he's okay with us being this way." Gentle, familiar hands stretch across the space between them to cup her elbows and Natasha moves into the gesture. 

"Are  _you_  okay with this?" she asks, emphasis subtle but pointed. "With splitting your commitments?"

"You make it sound as if there's a finite amount of commitment I possess," he says, straightforward, but internally it feels the smallest bit like a reprimand, "As if you both don't already have all of my love." 

The remark doesn't catch her off guard but she doesn't know what to do with it. "Mmm," she says in response; an empty acknowledgement - borderline skeptical. 

"Did he tell you that? What we both feel for you?"

"Yes," she says quietly. Subtle distinction or not, Clint had told her. But Natasha hadn't quite known what to do with that, either. She didn't really believe it - sure that her first interpretation wasn't what Clint had intended, but at a loss for what else he was trying to communicate. It's something she's going to need time to think about, since, apparently it's true. Phil seems to be waiting for a response right now. She blinks and stays poised in place; she doesn't have one for him. 

He picks up on this, as she expects him to. She watches as he inhales and mentally shifts directions, his gaze falling to her mouth. 

"Will you feel guilty? Or bad, if we do anything today?" he asks, as open and pleasantly quiet as he's been this whole time. 

She takes a moment to think, "No."

"Then why don't we go about business as usual," he says, taking the last step into her space, "get you back on an even keel." She reaches out the scant space it takes her to put a gentle grip on his elbow. "And then you can go home and think about the rest of it on your own."

She doesn't respond to him - doesn't have anything to say because the words aren't there right now. Her eyes fall shut and she can feel the grace in her movements as her arms come up to wrap around Phil's neck and she leans up to kiss him. 

His lips are as warm and familiar as the rest of him. She's willing to bet that Clint has moments where he feels the same - this exact, unaltered sentiment. Natasha relaxes into the touch as Phil's arms wrap around her. She imagines how he'd hold Clint - how much Clint must love being held by him, and sighs inaudibly into the next kiss. 

Phil makes a quiet sound as her tongue presses into his mouth. She tries to picture the two best men she knows in a moment just as intimate. Phil pressing Clint against the door, maybe. Or one of them leading the other into the darkened living room to settle into the upholstery of the sofa. 

His hands move to bracket her ribs. The knowledge that he  _has_  been this way with Clint now settles inside her. She thinks of how big Phil's hands are against her body, and of how they'd look settled over Clint's skin and muscle.  

The way his fingers press into her through the fabric of her shirt is a specific taste of reality. His physicality is so grounding. He palms her hips and she lets them rub back and forth a few times before she lifts one of her legs as if she's hitching it up over his hip, but she waits for his hands to cup her ass before lifting the other off the ground and giving him any of her weight. 

Every action happens on their own graduated scale. Like a test of physics, Phil holds her carefully just so as he carries her into his bedroom. It's the measure of respect for the exact nature of their relationship that keeps them balanced like this. The pressure of what it isn't. 

She thinks about the sweet gentleness he most definitely shows Clint; lacking here because she's never asked for it from Phil. But this food for thought is fueling her desire now. What would Phil want from her if he thought he could get away with it? What sorts of things does he really want to give her? She can only hazard guesses as to how he'd act, unfettered, in bed with someone. But she wants to find out. 

Phil sets her down on the bed and their lips smack as he pulls away, sitting back on his haunches and kneeling between her legs. She keeps a hold of his biceps as he shuffles closer. His hands settle on the tops of her thighs and Natasha reaches out to start unbuttoning his shirt. She bends to reach the bottom ones and turns her face into his neck to mouth at the soft skin. He exhales a quiet hum, his hands still and warm on her thighs as she works. She takes a gentle bite of his collar bone as she pulls away from undoing the last one, leaning back and resting her hands on the tops of his shoulders. 

Phil mirrors the ebb of her body away from his, looking up to make eye contact and reaching out for the button of her jeans. The heat of this moment is always something she welcomes - the warmth of his hands above or just in front of her crotch right before the first layer of clothing is first pulled away. She feels herself getting wet; knows Phil is already mostly hard. Natasha sighs as he pops the button, then drags his thumb up the seam of her zipper before he pulls it down. He slips two fingers under her waistband on each side and pinches his thumbs against them. Everything here is a deliberation. She lifts her hips and keeps the eye contact as he rolls her jeans all the way down her legs. It's dramatic but the paced measures feel important. Natasha helps to kick them the rest of the way off as he sits back on his heels and tugs at the ends. Her shirttails rub too-lightly against the tops of her thighs. 

At her feet, Phil unrolls his sleeves and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders before reaching down to pull off the white tee he wears underneath. When he leans back in, Natasha tucks her knees against his sides. His hands slide up until his fingers just brush the sides of her ass. 

"You never told me what you needed," he says. His voice is low but not yet rough. 

"Dealer's choice," she tells him, shifting to cup the back of his neck and running her other hand over the top of his head. 

He hums thoughtfully and turns to press his lips to the side of her knee. Decision made, he mouths along the inner strips of her thighs and she settles further into the moment. Natasha would have bet he'd go for this - it's what Phil usually picks when she lets him take the lead. It's even what she was in the mood for, but she likes it best when he seeks it out himself. The proof of his want makes it doubly fulfilling. 

His nose touches her through her panties, right at the start of her crease. He hovers there for a moment and Natasha waits for something else, but he just reaches up to tug down her waistband. She sits up again to help him get them off, but once they're past her knees, he's got one hand back on her thigh and his tongue between her lips. 

The panties slip the rest of the way down her legs themselves and she kicks them to the side towards her jeans. Her hand comes up to the back of his neck again and she sighs. Every pass of his tongue brings her further and further out of the tension she'd built up over the course of the mission. She sighs again and lets her head fall back as she stretches her thumb to stroke the bolt of his jaw. 

Phil works her over with precision and something like ardor. It - his comfort with her body - makes Natasha feel known. Head still hung back, she takes her hand from the his nape to unbutton her shirt. She pushes away the sides to expose her stomach and bra but the air in the room is temperate and her hard-pumping blood keeps her from feeling any chill. 

She feels Phil's eyes on her and looks down to meet them. Somehow they've managed to get here without him taking off his reading glasses. He'd probably initially looked up to see what Natasha was doing or why she'd removed her hand from him but now he's simply looking, and she lets him. Nat takes a moment for herself to admire the view she has - his intent gaze as he continues to work her over, pushing into her then pulling back out to stroke up and down then press against her clit. Phil rubs his fingers lightly in loose motions against the points where they sit against her upper legs; tantalizing gestures on sensitive skin. Natasha's next breath comes a little heavy and it makes her more aware of the cool exhales from Phil's nose blowing against the warmest and wettest parts of her. 

She reaches her hand down towards his head again but he still doesn't look away or close his eyes. Instead of his neck though, she lands it on his jaw. Natasha shifts to balance herself with core strength and takes her weight off of the hand she'd been propping herself on to bring it forward and cup it against the other side of his jaw. She brings his face away from her crotch and tilts it him up. He looks up at her, content to pause as Nat lifts both hands towards his temples. Phil gives a long blink as she takes off his glasses. Once they click against the surface of the bedside table, he's readily meeting her gaze again. She almost stops to really appreciate how he looks - face wet, eyes dark, expression patient and hungry - but doesn't indulge herself. She bends forward and down the  short distance it takes to press their mouths together. It isn't something she'd usually do, but she's very much in the mood for this close, heavy contact. Phil gives as good as he gets from her, until Natasha is pulling back. She feels slickness still spilling from her unattended pussy, and spares a moment to lick the taste of herself from her own mouth before she moves back in for a second, lingering kiss. 

When Natasha's had her fill, she sits all the way up, closing her eyes and tipping her head back as she stretches into one tight, tall line with her arms above her head. She lies gracefully back onto the mattress, arms still stretched above her, and brings her feet up to sit on its edge before she opens her eyes. Phil doesn't pause for a moment, just loops his arms around her legs and holds her at the bend of her hips, diving back in as she settles herself. 

With the better angle, he seems more intent on finishing her rather than drawing this out further. He pushes in - nose and tongue pressing closer against her. She hums contentedly as he works her over. He's got a silver tongue and a jaw of steel that she can count on like a Swiss watch. Natasha finds herself momentarily delighted by the thought of Phil going about eating Clint out with the same voracity he's showing her right now. She exhales a soft groan and tilts herself towards his face. Phil squeezes her thighs and tugs them towards him - a prompting gesture with no real force. She uses her legs to roll herself forward and Phil hums against her, sending a shiver up Nat's spine. She curls her hands into the sheets like it might ground her as she pushes towards him again and again. He hums a second time, long and low and gratifying, and  _now_  they're really getting somewhere. Her hips churn steady and a little forceful against his face, but he doesn't let up or back off. Natasha arches up and digs her shoulders into the mattress, fixing the angle and pressing just that much harder against him. When he grazes the sharp edges of his teeth around her clit, she chokes off a yell and comes, relentlessly riding his face as he keeps up the pressure and motion of tonguing her clit until her movements become jerky and she grows too sensitive. 

Natasha lies panting on the mattress, feet slipping from the edge of the bed so her legs lay spread and dangling over the edge. She looks up at Phil through heavy-lidded eyes as he stands, joints popping quietly. Natasha watches as he finishes undressing. Now, she lets herself admire his lithe lines and solid, narrow frame. She musters the energy for a full body stretch as Phil rids himself of his jeans and underwear. 

She isn't done flexing when the mattress dips under his weight. Natasha tracks his movements as he crawls over her. When she lets her limbs go lax and opens her eyes, he's hovering above her on hands and knees. Part of her still expected him to be wearing his glasses, but maybe that's just the weight of his gaze. 

Natasha brings her hands up to the crooks of his neck and thinks that she could lean up or pull him down into a kiss just to spend a few languorous moments before the build towards the next orgasm. She lifts her legs to wrap them around his waist, and in a show of decent full body strength she flips them and seats herself at his hips. There's a smile in his eyes as she sets her hands on his stomach and runs them up to his chest. Natasha wiggles and Phil's dick nudges against her ass. Her crotch is still soaked and she supposes that must be a turnon for Phil but it's not something she's ever asked him about. Their engagements involve very little dirty talk and that's mostly due to her. She wonders if he and Clint banter during sex - what filthy words they exchange. 

She imagines Clint being with her, with the two of them, like this - sure that he'd know what she wants and needs because they're almost always riding the same wavelength. She can picture Phil reading off of Clint and knowing just what to do with her based on that.  _Interlocking interactions_ , she thinks as Phil leans up to kiss her. She closes her eyes and lets him as her thoughts wander and she sheds her shirt. 

Where she doesn't ask for what she wants, and where Phil respects her boundaries by not trying to guess (even if he'd probably be right), Clint would give her everything without that barrier of vocalization having to be broached. Clint would push and give and she would willingly take. And Phil would be right there beside him, filling the gaps and smoothing the way - taking initiative when he saw and felt the opportunity. 

How would Clint's dirty talk affect her? She doesn't think she'd know until it was presented to her - (if it's ever presented to her). Would it feel ridiculous? Would she find it strange and funny but enjoyable - endearing? She wonders what things he might say about her body; about being so close and intimate with her. How open would he dare to be?

One of Phil's hands comes up to the middle of Natasha's back. She takes her arms off of his chest and twists them up behind her to unfasten and remove her bra. She sits up again, breaking the kiss to toss her bra onto the floor with the rest of their clothes, then looks back down at Phil and settles her hands on his chest once more. Phil fits his hands to her waist and Nat digs her knees under the sides of his torso. She slides her hands under his back, hovering low above him, seeming like she's going in slowly for a kiss, ignoring Phil's quasi-curious expression as he watches her. Then between one breath and the next, she quickly rolls them until they span the length of the bed rather than laying diagonally across the width. 

She sits herself all the way up once she's seated on his stomach again, his hands still gripped around her waist. Phil looks like he wants to laugh but retains the smile to his eyes only. Natasha can feel wetness around her thighs where she's smudged herself in the process of shifting the two of them. 

She takes his hands in her own, lifting them from around her middle, and moves them up above his head, leaning in close to stretch over him. 

"Should I have worn a tie?" he asks when she wraps her hands around his wrists. Natasha wonders if she'll ever be used to his flirting. 

"No," she simpers and presses them harder into the bed, "I want you just like this." 

They both inhale at once - a coincidence - as she presses herself down against his stomach. The stimulation to her pussy is a low constant but what she likes about this is the position. She loves the intermittent contact between her breasts and his torso as they breathe and their bodies roll against each other; the thick layer of wiry hair on his chest and the hard crests of bones rubbing against her sensitive skin.

Sex with Phil isn’t a power struggle. That's what she loves most about it. He doesn’t - isn’t, won't - try to dominate or overpower Natasha and she doesn’t need to worry about being in control, or dominating, or taking care of him because he’s his own dominant persona. It's what makes them work well together - that they can respect that about each other. 

One of Phil's hands shifts and Natasha lets it slip from her grasp. He slides his fingers between her pussy and his stomach to rub against her and Natasha lifts herself enough for him to fit his whole hand beneath her. Nat clenches right around them when he slips two fingers into her and fits his thumb against her clit. 

The mid-morning light paints Phil's expression as keen and open as she feels right now. A strange tranquil hunger - like he knows that what he wants is being gotten but is ready for more. Phil only ever looks satisfied during these ... sessions, if he's doing what Natasha wants him to do. She doesn't try to disguise her expression here in private moments with him (or with Clint for that matter) but she wonders what it says to signal to Phil that he's doing something right - she wonders how he's reading her face. 

She squeezes the wrist she still has a hold of and grinds down against the other. And Phil knows her so well. Natasha pictures clearly how he would guide Clint - prompt him from the timidity of being in unknown territory. Because no matter how many strange, close sexual encounters he's had, Nat knows that she would be different, just as he would be different for her. 

Phil shifts the placement of his fingers just a fraction and braces his feet against the mattress, bringing both his knees up for her to lean back against. She lets go of the hand above his head and plants both of hers at the bottom of his ribcage. 

Natasha fucks herself on his fingers. She imagines Clint's hand on her - in her - Phil coaching him, telling him quietly, just loud enough for the three of them to hear, exactly how she likes to be touched. An eager, tender expression on Clint's face; a proud, gentle one on Phil's as Natasha, for once, gives herself over to the only people she trusts to catch her.   
What would it feel like to be held by four caring hands? How good would it feel to be touched and catered to in the way she craves?

A few desperate, quiet sounds escape her and she comes, biting her own lip just enough to help hold herself together as she arches back against his legs. The pads of her fingertips bite into his sides and she wonders if any marks will be left. Phil curls his fingers inside her over and over and over until she drops back down to sit on top of him. Where her first orgasm broke through the initial tension and relaxed her, this one has her ready to go again - geared up and turned on like she hasn't come at all since she last saw Phil. Which she most certainly has; her self-sufficiency is unparalleled. But there's something to be said for the company of another when you're looking for a climax. 

She wants to be with somebody for her climaxes. 

Phil slides his hand out from beneath her. He wipes it off on the sheets and without unseating her, reaches for the bedside table. Natasha holds herself braced against his abdomen as she catches her breath and waits for him to finish fishing in the nightstand. 

He drops the found condom at his hip and wraps his arm low around her back, just above her ass. Natasha lets him pull her further up his torso until his dick slides out from under her at the crease of her thigh. She settles forward into the movement and hooks her hand at the corner of his neck. His face is nothing beyond a little focused as he unwraps and rolls on the condom one-handed just behind her back. Nat watches him though, and listens to the noises patiently. She starts to rub herself against his stomach again when she hears Phil stroking himself to keep hard even though moments ago he thought himself close enough to finishing to need a condom on hand. Or, likely, he was being pragmatic so that they wouldn't have to stop once they got going again. Another reason she enjoys fucking him; he's never unprepared. 

She tips against his knees and the arm still slung around her back. Phil's hand pulls up along her side and slips upward to cup and palm her breast. She leans into it and he squeezes her nipple.

"What next?" he asks quietly. 

He'll go as long as she wants. She's never reached his breaking point and he's never left her wanting. 

"One more," she tells him and he nods. 

He takes to rubbing his hands up and down her sides. Natasha continues canting her hips back and forth against his abdomen. Phil slides one hand down over her stomach and the swell of her mound. Nat tilts her pelvis towards him and Phil's fingers slide into her once more. She's dripping - the aftermath of two good orgasms - but he takes his time working her open; a prelude to the stretch of taking his cock. 

Her own hands are occupied at her breasts; massaging, pinching, pulling. It feels good to hold herself. With his free hand, Phil strokes slow and firm across her body. Phil, she has found, appreciates the details of uncommon points of sensitivity. He strokes his thumb into the inner creases of her elbows, draws light touches down the tops of her forearms, knuckles gently at the base then up the line of her throat. It's only in moments of anticipation, progressing builds toward their end goals, where Nat lets him take his time to express this brand of attentiveness. 

He withdraws his fingers and Natasha leans forward to prop herself on his torso. She tilts her hips back and lifts them as Phil reaches beneath her for his cock. The head brushes against her once, twice, before catching at her entrance. She makes eye contact as she sits on it, only to have Phil break it by closing his eyes and sighing as he tips his head back. Nat takes it as a base sort of compliment. 

She herself is absorbed in how well she's being filled up. With Phil's hands resting steadily on her hips, and the way his whole body is supporting her, she feels so grounded. This is what she was looking for when she asked for him this morning. 

He fucks up into her quick and smooth. She works against him, eyes closed and breathing even. It won't be hard to finish like this - not with the ways he's already worked her up and pushed her over the edge. Phil's hand rests at the sensitive, lowest point of her back. Sporadically, he strokes the spot, and it's something too close to a caress for her to really appreciate with the uncertainty of their circumstance, but not enough so to make her stop him 

Natasha passes a hand over herself, languorously rubbing her folds and her clit until she's really too sore to enjoy it. Then, she drops her hand to Phil's skin, until she's ringing her fingers around and teasing the base of his cock and his balls as she continues bouncing against him. Phil obviously appreciates the sensation, but as ever, he's quiet about it. Natasha keeps at it for a minute longer before letting go and bracing her hand on the mattress in order to roll them so that Phil is once more on top. 

"I'm close," she says, borderline unnecessary, but an explanation for the flip. 

He nods, panting for his efforts but unrelenting in his pace. His hand still sits at that low point on her back, his forearm now braced against the mattress. The ring of Nat's legs around his waist holds Phil tight to her. He'll have paid enough attention to know she's oversensitive - which is why she doesn't give a second thought to the hand he slips from behind her back, around her hip and down over her stomach. Between one thrust and the next, he's pressing down with a few fingers into the soft space above her pubic crest. His thoughtful genius earns him a loud sigh and the rest of her relaxation. In tandem, he tilts his hips as she arches her waist and then he's nailing her g-spot from outside and in. 

It's a quick fall to orgasm from there. Phil always makes it last, and she rides every stroke with real euphoria. She can tell as soon as he starts to finish, even as his pace holds steady, and with ready hands she pulls him into a warm, lasting kiss. He holds himself hovering above her without pulling out until they've both begun to come down. Or at least, until Natasha begins to come down. Phil always manages to know when she is, and withdraw or react accordingly - but he also seems to to be in the same state of mind. As if the reaction is just as much for himself as it is for her.

Maybe it's just continual coincidence. 

Still panting, she sits up as Phil lies back on the sheets. She steadies herself as the threat of dizziness fades, then stands and crosses to the bathroom. Without a light on, it's too dim to see her reflection or much of anything, but she knows where the extra washcloths are kept. Sightlessly, she cleans herself, thinking about the promise of a long, real shower once she finally gets to her apartment. 

Natasha walks back into the room with a clean washcloth for Phil. He extends his hand to take it just as she gets close enough to pass it over. As he wipes himself off, she kneels by his side of the bed and gathers her clothes. She dresses in silence until the sheets rustle - Phil moving to sit up, probably. She finishes pulling her shirt on and lets the motion become a stretch as she turns to exit. 

"Natasha?" he says when she's halfway to the door. She turns a crisp ninety degrees. "Make sure you say something. If you want this again. If you want more."

She nods, which is more than she'd give anybody else, but she doesn't say goodbye. 

 

 

             ☙••••••••••••••❧

 

"Did you change the lock on your office at work?" 

The door falls shut and Phil listens to the sounds of Clint dropping his bag and taking off his shoes and coat. 

"Now why would you ask me that?" he calls back as he stirs the pot on the stove. 

"Professional curiosity," Clint says from what sounds like the kitchen doorway. 

"Or you tried to break in again," Phil replies without turning away from dinner preparations. 

Sock-footed steps pad across the tile floor. "It's not breaking in if I know the code," Clint wraps his arms around Phil's stomach and rests his chin on the hand towel Phil has tossed over his shoulder, "Tasha says so."

"Oh, well if Tasha says so..."

Clint nudges his nose against Phil's neck. He sighs softly and Phil hears the unspoken segue in his silence. "Speaking of Tasha?" Phil suggests, filling in the blank. 

Clint stays where he is and nods his head. 

"I'm guessing she came over right after she spoke with you. There was a general sense of normality," he says, stirring the pot in front of him, "but initially, she was uncertain, and ... worried. About taking something from you. Or, what belonged to you."

Clint makes a quiet, unhappy sound. Phil pats his hand. 

"I think I said something about already loving both of you. And then we managed to transition into giving her what she needed."

"Yeah?" Clint says, lurid, as if he doesn't have another sort of reaction to give. But two can play at that. 

"I ate her out in the bedroom and she let me finger her before we fucked," he says dryly. 

Clint shivers, obviously not having expected any sort of acknowledging response. Phil wonders if he's accidentally crossed a boundary. How open are the three of them allowed to be about this arrangement? He makes a mental note to discuss that with Natasha first - later. 

With the hope that his remark has checked Clint's nerves, he goes on. 

"I'm not quite sure what she took away. But it would make sense that she was sorting through everything and working on picking her position."

"We kinda gave her a lot at once," Clint says. 

Phil nods. Turns down the temperature on the back burner. Stirs the pot again. 

"She referred to it as coming home," he says. "When she talked about coming over here, she referred to it as coming home, which I didn't realize until just now." 

"That's good, yeah?" Clint asks. He rubs his hands back and forth a little on Phil's stomach. "I want this to be home for her. It's home to me," he gives a little half shrug, "I want us to have the same home." Phil thinks about asking Clint to actually move in - thinks about how often he's thought about it. 

Clint settles further into Phil's body. "Is there-" he starts, but the timer Phil had set earlier happens to go off just then. Phil silences the alarm then turns off the oven. Clint steps back to give him room and Phil glances over his shoulder to check him.

He's staring distantly at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck, "Actually," he says, looking up at Phil, "do we have to eat while we talk about this?"

"Dinner will keep," Phil assures him, reaching to turn off the stove and putting lids on pots. 

"Thanks, I- I just-" 

Phil drops the towel from his shoulder onto the counter and reaches for Clint again. Clint settles against his front and sighs. They can take a moment - Phil is happy to just hold him.

"She seemed okay when she left?" Clint asks quietly. 

Phil nods, cheek rubbing against the side of his head, "She seemed good."

"Good," Clint nods a little. Phil can tell he's still thinking.

"You know," he says, "we've established mutual non-jealousy, but it does seem a little unfair that I get to be with both of you - with Natasha, when we both want her."

Clint leans back and looks up at Phil with a thoughtful, self-possessed expression, "Sometimes that's just the way it works out. It's okay that she doesn't want me like that." Phil looks him over until he continues, "Sure, I want her too, but you're more than enough for me," Clint nuzzles the side of his neck. "And it's not like you're cheating on me or two-timing anyone or being in separate relationships with both of us."

Clint tilts his head up for a kiss, then pulls away and leans back against the counter. 

"I might be a little butthurt if she wanted a romantic relationship with you, too, and not me. That kind of thing tends to do some pride-denting." He rubs the heel of his hand absently against his sternum. "But I can't make her want me, and ... it's a little more complicated than that anyways. I think if it came down to it - with the way I want you to be happy and her to be happy, I could share you with her." He shrugs, "If anybody could work that sort of thing out, it'd be us three."

Phil closes in and wraps his arms around Clint's shoulders and presses a kiss the the side of his head. 

"Besides, I'd be able to relate to her having feelings for you. We could bond over that."

Phil chuckles and tightens his grip. 

"And anyways, we can still bond over how hot you are."

Phil scoffs, even as Clint drags his nose and the tips of his teeth up his neck. 

"Got a lot of talking points on that?"

"Phil, you're managing to keep two athletic assassins in the prime of their lives very sexually satisfied. Don't even front."

"I've only managed half of that so far," Phil says, obvious heat in his voice. 

Clint grins lecherously, "Don't let me stop you," he says against Phil's mouth as he leans in for a kiss. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 is in the works and on the way!
> 
> Come chat with me on my [tumblr](https://mrwonderwoman.tumblr.com)!


End file.
